STEVE CONNALLY, 90, was born a slave of Tom Connally, grandfather of United States Senator Tom Connally, from Texas. The family then lived in Georgia, and Steve's master was a member of the Georgia Legislature.
"I was born in Murray County, Georgia, and was a slave of Massa Tom Connally, but they called him Massa "Cushi" Connally. He was a member of de Georgia Legislature. I stayed with Missy Mary Connally till I was sixty-seven and Massa Cushi died when I was sixty-nine.
"My mother, Mandy, weighed two hundred pounds and she was de Connally cook. When I was born, she took de fever and couldn't raise me, so Missy Mary took and kep' me in a li'l cot by her bed. After dat, I'm with her nearly all de time and follows her. When she go to de garden I catches her dresstail and when she go to de doctor, 'bout eighty miles away, I goes with her.
"I mus' tell you why everybody call Massa Connally Cushi. Dere am allus so many Tom Connallys in de fam'ly, dey have to have de nickname to tell one from de other.
"Back dere in Georgia, us have lots and lots of fruit. Come time, de women folks preserves and cans till it ain't no use. My mammy take de prize any day with her jelly and sech, and her cakes jes' nachelly walk off and leave de whole county. Missy Mary sho' de master hand hersef at de fine bakin' and I'd slip round and be handy to lick out de pans.
"Dey didn't have no 'frigerators den, but dey built log houses without a floor over de good, cold spring, and put flat rocks dere to keep de milk and cream and butter cold. Or dey dig out de place so de crock be down in de wet dirt. Dey sho' have to make de latch up high, so de bad chillen couldn't open dat door!
"De plantation in Georgia was de whopper. I don't know 'zactly how many acres, but it a big one. Us make everything and tan hides and make shoes, jes' like all de big places did. De big house and de weavin' house and de tannin' yard and de sugar mill and slave quarters made a li'l town. Dere used to be some mighty big doin's dere. De Connally men and women am allus good lookers and mighty pop'lar, and folkses come from far and near to visit dem. All de 'portant men come and all de sassiety belles jes' drift to our place. Dere sho' lots of big balls and dinners and de house fix mighty fine dem times. De women wore de hoop skirts and de ribbons and laces. My missy was de bes' lookin' from far and near, and all de gem'mans want to dance with her. She sho' look like de queen you see in de picture books and she have mighty high ways with folks, but she's mighty good to dis here li'l black boy.
"I goes in de buggy with Massa Cushi, up to Tennessee, to git his sons what been kilt or wounded. Massa Ned, he dead, and Massa Charles, he shot in de hip, and die after he git brung home. Massa Dick hurt, too, but he didn't die.
"Right after de Civil War, when I'm 'bout nineteen, I comes to Texas with de Connallys, all what didn't git kilt in de war. I stays with Missy Mary till she die in Georgia. Her son, Jones Connally, come to Brazos County, near Bryan, and after dat removes to Eddy. I works for him two years and has lived round Eddy ever since. De Connallys give me a house and lot in Eddy. Some de fool niggers 'spected a lot, but I wasn't worryin' none. All I wanted was to stay near de Connallys. Mos' gen'ly all de slaves what I knowed was found places for and holp git a start at jobs and places to live. All de Connally slaves loved dem. Some de timber land give to Mrs. Rose Staten and when she go up dere a old nigger woman name Lucy sees her. She so happy to see one dem Connally chillen she laugh and cry.
"Massa Jones Connally have de twin gals, name Ola and Ella. Olla born with de lef' arm off at de elbow and she allus follow me round. When I go to milk I puts her in de trough. I saved her life lots of times. One time she's on de cone of de two-story house, when she's 'bout two years old. I eases up and knocks de window out and coaxes her to come to me. 'Nother time, I's diggin' de well and some clods falls down and I looks up and dere am dat Missy Ola leanin' over, mos' tumblin' in de well on her head. I gives de loud yell and her brother-in-law come runnin' and grabs her legs.
"Senator Tom Connally, what am a son of Jones Connally, often says he'd like to visit his grandpa's old home in Georgia. I'd like mighty well to go with him and take him all over de old home place and out to de old cemetary."
VALMAR CORMIER was born a slave to Duplissent Dugat, a small slave-holder of Lafayette, Louisiana. He tells his story in a mixture of English and French. As far as he knows, he is nearly 90 years old. He now lives with his sister, Mary Moses, in the Pear Orchard Settlement, in Beaumont, Texas.
"I 'member de day my old marster go to de war. I kin 'member dat jes' like yesterday. He used to like to play de fiddle and make me dance when I was li'l, but he went to de war and got kilt. He name Duplissent Dugat. Mary, my sister, she don't 'member de old marster.
"De slaves did de work on dat farm. Dey was two growed-ups, my mama, Colaste, and my uncle, and dere was us two chillen. My father was a white man, a white Creole man. I never carry he name till after freedom.
"Marster was jes' a poor man and he have jes' a ordinary house. De slave house was jes' a old plank house 'bout twelve feet by twenty feet and have dirt floor. Us cook in de big fireplace and take a log 'bout four foot long and have a big iron pot with a iron lid. Dey put red hot coals under de pot and on top de lid and dey have a big iron poker with a hook on it what dey took de lid off with.
"Befo' dey have coal oil lamp dey used to use homemake candles. Dey'd kill de brutes and keep and save all de tallow and one day was set off to make de candles. All de neighbors come and dey have kind of party and eat and things. Sometime dey make three, four hunnerd candles in one day and lay dem in a big box, so dey won't git break.
"Us make soap on de plantation, too. Dey melt de tallow and cracklin's and git lye out de fireplace ash. We have cotton and corn and potatoes growin', so we has plenty to eat. Us have coosh-coosh, dat cornbread and meat, and some fish to eat. Snails us jes' go through de woods and pick dem up and eat dem jes' like dat. Us eat plenty crawfish. De chillen git string and old piece fat meat and tie on de end, and us go to de bog and drap de string down dat crawfish hole. When de old man grab de meat with he pincher, den us jerk us up a crawfish, and bile him in hot water, or make de gumbo.
"Us drink French coffee befo' de war, but endurin' de war us couldn't git de good kind. Den us make coffee out of coffee weed. Dey parch dat weed in de iron oven, grind it and put it in de iron pot.
"I seed de sojers and I run under de house, I was so scared. Mary, she hide under de bed in de house. De Yankees come take de cattle and went 'way with dem. I kin sho' rec'lect when dose sojers come and de road was full goin' day and night. De Yankees find a lot of Confed'rate sojers close to Duson, de other side of Rayne and dey captures lots and brung dem back by dere.
"After while it all over and dey told us we free, but my mama kep' working for old missus after freedom, 'cause old marster, he kilt in dat war. Den old missus die and left three li'l chillen, but I don't know what happen to them, 'cause us go to another place and I plow and Mary she he'p pick cotton.
"I git marry at 20 and my first wife de French gal. We marry by de priest in de church. Us have so many chillen us have to keep a map to account for all dem, dere was 19 in all. We stays in Louisiana long time, den come to Texas.
LAURA CORNISH was born on the plantation of Isaiah Day, near Dayton, Texas. She "reckons I's 'bout twelve or maybe thirteen years old when all de cullud folks was made free." Laura's memory is poor, but she made an effort to recall slave days. She lives at 2915 Nance St., Houston, Texas.
"Lawd have mercy 'pon me, when you calls me Aunt Laura it seems jes' like you must be some of my white folks, 'cause dat what dey calls me. I mean Papa Day's chillen and dere younguns, when dey comes to see me. But it been de long time since any of dem come to see old Aunt Laura, and I reckon dey most all gone now.
"You know where Dayton is at? Well, dat's where Papa Day's plantation was at and where I's borned. I don't know when dat am, 'zactly, but when all de cullud folks was made free, I reckons I's 'bout twelve or thirteen years old.
"Mama's name was Maria Dunlap and daddy's name was Saul. Mamma was de seamstress and don't do nothin' but weave cloth on de spinnin' wheel and make clothes. Daddy from Lake Providence, I heared him say, but I don't know where at dat is. He do all de carpenter work. I has five sisters and two brothers, but dey heaps older dan me and I don't know much 'bout dem.
"We 'longs to Papa Day, his name Isaiah, but us all call him Papa Day, 'cause he won't 'low none he cullud folks to call him master. He say us is born free as he is, only de other white folks won't tell us so, and our souls is jes' as white, and de reason us am darker on de outside is 'cause us is sunburnt. I don't reckon dere am anybody as good to dere cullud folks as he was.
"Miss Martha, he wife, was mighty good, too. Does any us chillen git hurt or scratched, she fix us up and give us a hug. I knows dey has two boys and a gal, and dey comes to see me long time after I's free and brings dere own chillen. But my mem'ry am sort of foggy-like and I can't 'member dere names now.
"De only work Papa Day 'lows us chillen do am pick de boles close to de ground, and dat mostly fun, and us ride to de house on de wagon what takes de pickin' at night. Papa Day don't make he cullud folks work Saturdays and Sundays and dey can visit round on other plantations, and he say nobody better bother us none, either.
"One time us chillen playin' out in de woods and seed two old men what look like wild men, sho' 'nough. Dey has long hair all over de face and dere shirts all bloody. Us run and tell Papa Day and he makes us take him dere and he goes in de briar patch where dem men hidin'. Dey takes him round de knees and begs him do he not tell dere massa where dey at, 'cause dey maybe git kilt. Dey say dey am old Lodge and Baldo and dey run 'way 'cause dere massa whips dem, 'cause dey so old dey can't work good no more. Papa Day has tears comin' in he eyes. Dey can't hardly walk, so he sends dem to de house and has Aunt Mandy, de cook, fix up somethin' to eat quick. I never seed sech eatin', dey so hongry. He puts dem in a house and tells us not to say nothin'. Den he rides off on he hoss and goes to dere massa and tells him 'bout it, and jes' dares him to come git dem. He pays de man some money and Lodge and Baldo stays with Papa Day and I guess day thunk dey in Heaven.
"One mornin' Papa Day calls all us to de house and reads de freedom papers and say, 'De gov'ment don't need to tell you you is free, 'cause you been free all you days. If you wants to stay you can and if you wants to go, you can. But if you go, lots of white folks ain't gwine treat you like I does.'
"For de longest time, maybe two years, dey wasn't none of Papa Day's cullud folks what left, but den first one fam'ly den 'nother gits some land to make a crop on, and den daddy gits some land and us leaves, too. Maybe he gits de land from Papa Day, 'cause it an't far from his plantation. Us sho' work hard on dat place, but I heared mama say lots of times she wishes we stay on Papa Day's place.
"I 'member one year us don't make no crop hardly and daddy say he gwine git out 'fore us starves to death, and he moves to Houston. He gits a job doin' carpenter work and hires me out for de housegirl. But mama dies and daddy takes sick and dies, too. Lawd have mercy, dat sho' de hard time for me when I loses my mama and daddy, and I has to go to Dayton and stay with my sister, Rachel. Both my husbands what I marries done been dead a long time now, and de only child I ever had died when he jes' a baby. Now I's jes' alone, sittin' and waitin' for de Lawd to call me."
JOHN CRAWFORD, 81, was born a slave on Judge Thompson Rector's plantation at Manor, Texas. After emancipation, John was a share-cropper. He has always lived in Travis County and is now cared for by a daughter at Austin.
"John Crawford am me. It am eighty-one years since I's borned and dat's on de old Rector plantation where Manor am now. It wasn't dere den. I knowed the man it was named after.
"Ma's name was Viney Rector and the old judge brung her from Alabama. She milked all the cows two times a day and I had to turn out all de calves. Sometimes dey'd git purty rough and go right to dere mammies.
"Pap's name was Tom Townes, 'cause he 'longed on de Townes place. He was my step-pap and when I's growed I tooken my own pap's name, what was Crawford. I never seed him, though, and didn't know nothin' much 'bout him. He's sold away 'fore I's borned.
"Pap Townes could make most everythin'. He made turnin' plows and hossshoe nails and a good lot of furniture. He was purty good to me, 'siderin' he wasn't my own pap. I didn't have no hard time, noway. I had plenty bacon and side-meat and 'lasses. Every Sunday mornin' the jedge give us our rations for de week. He wasn't short with dem, neither.
"Many was de time Injuns come to Jedge Rector's place. Dem Injuns beg for somethin' and the jedge allus give dem somethin'. They wasn't mean Injuns, jes' allus beggin'.
"I can't read and write to this day. Nobody ever larnt me my A B C's and I didn't git no chance at school.
"On Christmas mornin' Massa Rector come out and give each man and woman a big, red pocket handkerchief and a bottle of liquor. He buyed dat liquor by de barrel and liked it hisself. Dat why he allus had it on de place.
"One mornin' the jedge done send word down by de cook for nobody to go to de fields dat day. We all want up to de big house and de jedge git up to make de speech, but am too choke up to talk. He hated to lose he slaves, I reckon. So his son-in-law has to say, 'You folks am now free and can go where you wants to go. You can stay here and pick cotton and git fifty cents de hunerd.' But only two families stayed. De rest pulled out.
"After freedom we rented land on de halves. Some niggers soon got ahead and rented on de third or fourth. When you rent that-a-way you git three bales and de boss git one. But you has to buy you own teams and seed and all on dat plan.
"Its a fac' we was told we'd git forty acres and a mule. Dat de talk den, but we never did git it.
"De Ku Klux made a lot of devilment round-about dat county. Dey allus chasin' some nigger and beatin' him up. But some dem niggers sho' 'serve it. When dey gits free, dey gits wild. Dey won't work or do nothin' and thinks dey don't have to. We didn't have no trouble, 'cause we stays on de farm and works and don't have no truck with dem wild niggers.
"In 1877 I marries Fannie Black at de town of Sprinkle. It wasn't sech a town, jes' a li'l place. Me and her stayed married fifty-two years and four months. She died and left me eight year ago. We had seven chillen and they is all livin'. Four is here in Austin and two in California and one in Ohio.
"I gits a li'l pension, $9.00 de month, and my gal, Susie, takes care of me. I ain't got long to go now 'fore de Lawd gwine call me.
GREEN CUMBY, 86, was born a slave of the Robert H. Cumby family, in Henderson, Texas. He was about 14 at the close of the Civil War. He stayed with his old master four years after he was freed, then married and settled in Tyler, Texas, where he worked for the compress 30 years. He lives with his daughter at 749 Mesquite St., Abilene, Texas.
"Durin' slavery I had purty rough times. My grandfather, Tater Cumby, was cullud overseer for forty slaves and he called us at four in de mornin' and we worked from sun to sun. Most of de time we worked on Sunday, too.
"De white overseers whupped us with straps when we didn't do right. I seed niggers in chains lots of times, 'cause there wasn't no jails and they jus' chained 'em to trees.
"Spec'lators on hosses drove big bunches of slaves past our place from one place to another, to auction 'em at de market places. De women would be carryin' l'il ones in dere arms and at night dey bed 'em down jus' like cattle right on de ground 'side of de road. Lots of l'il chillun was sold 'way from de mammy when dey seven or eight, or even smaller. Dat's why us cullud folks don't know our kinfolks to dis day.
"De best times was when de corn shuckin' was at hand. Den you didn't have to bother with no pass to leave de plantation, and de patter rolls didn't bother you. If de patter rolls cotch you without de pass any other time, you better wish you dead, 'cause you would have yourself some trouble.
"But de corn shuckin', dat was de gran' times. All de marsters and dere black boys from plantations from miles 'round would be dere. Den when we got de corn pile high as dis house, de table was spread out under de shade. All de boys dat 'long to old marster would take him on de packsaddle 'round de house, den dey bring him to de table and sit by he side; den all de boys dat 'long to Marster Bevan from another plantation take him on de packsaddle 'round and 'round de house, allus singin' and dancin', den dey puts him at de other side de table, and dey all do de same till everybody at de table, den dey have de feast.
"To see de runaway slaves in de woods scared me to death. They'd try to snatch you and hold you, so you couldn't go tell. Sometimes dey cotched dem runaway niggers and dey be like wild animals and have to be tamed over 'gain. Dere was a white man call Henderson had 60 bloodhounds and rents 'em out to run slaves. I well rec'lect de hounds run through our place one night, chasin' de slave what kilt his wife by runnin' de harness needle through her heart. Dey cotch him and de patter rolls took him to Henderson and hangs him.
"De patter rolls dey chases me plenty times, but I's lucky, 'cause dey never cotched me. I slips off to see de gal on de nex' plantation and I has no pass and they chases me and was I scairt! You should have seed me run through dat bresh, 'cause I didn't dare go out on de road or de path. It near tore de clothes off me, but I goes on and gits home and slides under de house. But I'd go to see dat gal every time, patter rolls or no patter rolls, and I gits trained so's I could run 'most as fast as a rabbit.
"De white chillun larned us to read and write at night, but I never paid much 'tention, but I kin read de testament now. Other times at night de slaves gathers round de cabins in little bunches and talks till bedtime. Sometimes we'd dance and someone would knock out time for us by snappin' de fingers and slappin' de knee. We didn't have nothin' to make de music on.
"We mos'ly lived on corn pone and salt bacon de marster give us. We didn't have no gardens ourselves, 'cause we wouldn't have time to work in dem. We worked all day in de fields and den was so tired we couldn't do nothin' more.
"My mammy doctored us when we was feelin' bad and she'd take dog-fenley, a yaller lookin' weed, and brew tea, and it driv de chills and de fever out of us. Sometimes she put horse mint on de pallet with us to make us sweat and driv de fever 'way. For breakfast she'd make us sass' fras tea, to clear our blood.
"My marstar and his two step-sons goes to de war. De marster was a big gen'ral on de southern side. I didn't know what dey fightin' 'bout for a long time, den I heered it 'bout freedom and I felt like it be Heaven here on earth to git freedom, 'spite de fac' I allus had de good marster. He sho' was good to us, but you knows dat ain't de same as bein' free.
TEMPIE CUMMINS was born at Brookeland, Texas, sometime before the Civil War, but does not know her exact age. William Neyland owned Tempie and her parents. She now lives alone in a small, weather-beaten shack in the South Quarters, a section of Jasper, Tex.
"They call me Tempie Cummins and I was born at Brookeland but I don' know jus' the 'xact date. My father's name was Jim Starkins and my mother's name was Charlotte Brooks and both of 'em come from Alabama. I had jus' one brudder, Bill, and four sisters named Margaret and Hannah and Mary and 'Liza. Life was good when I was with them and us play round. Miss Fannie Neyland, she Mis' Phil Scarborough now, she raise me, 'cause I was give to them when I was eight year old.
"I slep' on a pallet on the floor. They give me a homespun dress onct a year at Christmas time. When company come I had to run and slip on that dress. At other time I wore white chillens' cast-off clothes so wore they was ready to throw away. I had to pin them up with red horse thorns to hide my nakedness. My dress was usually split from hem to neck and I had to wear them till they was strings. Went barefoot summer and winter till the feets crack open.
"I never seed my grandparents 'cause my mother she sold in Alabama when she's 17 and they brung her to Texas and treat her rough. At mealtime they hand me a piece of cornbread and tell me 'Run 'long.' Sometime I git little piece of meat and biscuit, 'bout onct a month. I gathered up scraps the white chillens lef'.
"Marster was rough. He take two beech switches and twist them together and whip 'em to a stub. Many's the time I's bled from them whippin's. Our old mistus, she try to be good to us, I reckon, but she was turrible lazy. She had two of us to wait on her and then she didn' treat us good.
"Marster had 30 or 40 acres and he raise cotton, and corn and 'tatoes. He used to raise 12 bales cotton a year and then drink it all up. We work from daylight till dark, and after. Marster punish them what didn' work hard enough.
"The white chillen tries teach me to read and write but I didn' larn much, 'cause I allus workin'. Mother was workin' in the house, and she cooked too. She say she used to hide in the chimney corner and listen to what the white folks say. When freedom was 'clared, marster wouldn' tell 'em, but mother she hear him tellin' mistus that the slaves was free but they didn' know it and he's not gwineter tell 'em till he makes another crop or two. When mother hear that she say she slip out the chimney corner and crack her heels together four times and shouts, 'I's free, I's free.' Then she runs to the field, 'gainst marster's will and tol' all the other slaves and they quit work. Then she run away and in the night she slip into a big ravine near the house and have them bring me to her. Marster, he come out with his gun and shot at mother but she run down the ravine and gits away with me.
"I seed lots of ghosties when I's young. I couldn' sleep for them. I's kind of outgrowed them now. But one time me and my younges' chile was comin' over to church and right near the dippin' vat is two big gates and when we git to them, out come a big old white ox, with long legs and horns and when he git 'bout halfway, he turns into a man with a Panama hat on. He follers us to Sandy Creek bridge. Sometimes at night I sees that same spirit sittin' on that bridge now.
"My old man say, in slavery time, when he's 21, he had to pass a place where patterroles whipped slaves and had kilt some. He was sittin' on a load of fodder and there come a big light wavin' down the road and scarin' the team and the hosses drag him and near kilt him.
ADELINE CUNNINGHAM, 1210 Florida St., born 1852, was a slave in Lavaca County, 4-1/2 miles n.e. of Hallettsville. She was a slave of Washington Greenlee Foley and his grandson, John Woods. The Foley plantation consisted of several square leagues, each league containing 4,428.4 acres. Adeline is tall, spare and primly erect, with fiery brown eyes, which snap when she recalls the slave days. The house is somewhat pretentious and well furnished. The day was hot and the granddaughter prepared ice water for her grandmother and the interviewer. House and porch were very clean.
"I was bo'n on ole man Foley's plantation in Lavaca County. He's got more'n 100 slaves. He always buy slaves and he never sell. How many acres of lan' he got? Lawd, dat man ain't got acres, he got leagues. Dey raises cotton and co'n, and cattle and hawgs. Ole man Foley's plantation run over Lavaca and Colorado county, he got 1600 acres in one block and some of it on de Navidad River. Ole man Foley live in a big log house wid two double rooms and a hall, and he build a weavin' house agin his own house and dey's anudder house wid de spinnin' wheels. And ole man Foley run his own cotton gin and his own grindin' mill where dey grinds de co'n and dey got a big potato patch.
"Dey was rough people and dey treat ev'ry body rough. We lives in de quarter; de houses all jine close togedder but you kin walk 'tween 'em. All de cabins has one room and mostly two fam'lies bunks togedder in de one room wid dirt floors. De slaves builds de cabins, de slaves got no money, dey got no land.
"No suh, we never goes to church. Times we sneaks in de woods and prays de Lawd to make us free and times one of de slaves got happy and made a noise dat dey heered at de big house and den de overseer come and whip us 'cause we prayed de Lawd to set us free.
"You know what a stockman is? He is a man dat buys and sells cattle. Ev'ry year de stockman comes to ole man Foley's and he lines us up in de yard and de stockman got a lotta slaves tied togedder and ole man Foley he buys some slaves but he won't sell none. Yassuh, de stockman buys and sells de slaves jes' de same as cattle.
"Dey feeds us well sometimes, if dey warn't mad at us. Dey has a big trough jes' like de trough for de pigs and dey has a big gourd and dey totes de gourd full of milk and dey breaks de bread in de milk. Den my mammy takes a gourd and fills it and gives it to us chillun. How's we eat it? We had oyster shells for spoons and de slaves comes in from de fields and dey hands is all dirty, and dey is hungry. Dey dips de dirty hands right in de trough and we can't eat none of it. De women wuks in de fields until dey has chillun and when de chillun's ole enough to wuk in de fields den de mother goes to ole man Foley's house. Dere she's a house servant and wuks at spinnin' and weavin' de cotton. Dey makes all de clothes for ole man Foley and his fam'ly and for de slaves.
"No suh, we ain't got no holidays. Sundays we grinds co'n and de men split rails and hoes wid de grubbin' hoe. Ole man Foley has a blacksmif shop and a slave does de blacksmiffin. De slaves builds cabins wid split logs and dey makes de roof tight wid co'n shucks and grass. One time a month, times one time in two months, dey takes us to de white folks church.
"Dey's four or five preachers and de slaves. Iffen deys a marriage de preacher has a book. He's gotter keep it hid, 'cause dey's afraid iffen de slaves learns to read dey learns how to run away. One of de slaves runs away and dey ketches him and puts his eyes out. Dey catches anudder slave dat run away and dey hanged him up by de arm. Yassuh, I see dat wid my own eyes; dey holds de slave up by one arm, dey puts a iron on his knee and a iron on his feet and drag 'im down but his feet cain't reach de groun'.
"Ole man Foley ain't bad, but de overseers is mean. No suh, we never gits no money and we never gits no lan'. Ole man Foley, he wants to give us sumpin for gardens but Mr. John Woods, his gran'son, is agin it.
"Was I glad when dat was over? Wouldn' you be? It's long after we's free dat I gits married. Yassuh, and I live in San Antonio 'bout 20 years."
WILL DAILY, was born in 1858 in Missouri, near the city of St. Louis. He was a slave of the John Daily family and served as chore boy around the house, carried the breakfast to the field and always drove up the horses on the plantation. The latter duty developed a fondness for horses which led to a career as a race horse rider and trainer. He remained with his white folks several years after freedom and in Missouri many years longer in this work. He came to San Angelo, Texas in 1922 and took up hotel work which he followed until his health broke, only a few years ago. He now lives in his small home, in the colored district of the city and depends on his old age pension for a livelihood.
"Huh! What you say, did you say somethin' 'bout de ole age pension?", questioned Will when approached on the slavery question, but he answered readily, "Sho! sho' I was a slave an' I aint ashamed to admit dat I was. Some of dese here fellers thinks dey sounds ole when dey says dey was slaves and dey denies it but I's proud enough of de good treatment I's got, to allus tell about it. My marster had a driver but he say his niggers was human, wid human feelin's, so he makes dat driver reports to him fer what little thrashin's we gits. Course we had to do de right thing but jes' some how did, mos' of de time 'cause he was good to us. Soon as I was big enough, about four or five years ole, ole miss, she starts trainin' me fer a house boy. I's a doin' all sorts of chores by de time I was six years old. Den ole marster he starts sendin' me out on de plantation to drive up de hosses. I sho' likes dat job 'cause aint nothin' I loves any better den hosses. Den when I was bigger he starts me to carryin' de breakfast to de field whar de grown niggers had been out workin' since way 'fore day. Dey all done dat. Dey say de days wasn't long enough to put in enough time so dey works part of de night.
"We had good grub 'cause we raised all de co'n and de hogs and de cows and chickens and plenty of everything. Mos' times we have biscuits and bacon and syrup for breakfast and butter too if we wants it but mos' niggers dey likes dat fat bacon de bes'.
"Our log cabins was good and comfortable. Dey was all along in a row and built out of de same kind of logs what our marsters house was.
"We had good beds and dey was clean.
"I nev'r had no money when I was a slave 'cause I was jes' a small boy when de slaves was set free.
"We had lots of fish and rabbits, more den we had 'possum but we sho' likes dat 'possum when we could git it.
"My marster had about three hundred slaves and a big plantation.
"I seen some slaves sold off dat big auction block and de little chillun sho' would be a cryin' when dey takes dere mothers away from dem.
"We didn' have no jail 'cause my marster didn' believe dat way, but I's seen other slaves in dem chains and things.
"We didn' know nothin' 'bout no learnin' nor no church neither and when de slaves die dey was jes' buried without no singin' or nothin'.
"When de war started, my father, he goes and once I remember he comes home on a furlough and we was all so glad, den when he goes back he gits killed and we nev'r see him no mo'.
"We had de doctor and good care when we was sick. I's don't remember much 'bout what kinds of medicine we took but I's know it was mostly home-made.
"We all wears dat asafoetida on a string 'round our necks and sometimes we carry a rabbit's foot in our pockets fer good luck.
"When de war was ended and de slaves was free old Uncle Pete, our oldest slave, comes a-walkin' up from de woods whar he always go to keeps from bein' bothered, to read his Bible, and he had dat Bible under his arm an' he say, 'I's know somethin', me an' de Lawd knows somethin'', and den he tells us. He say, 'You all is free people now, you can go when you please and come when you pleases and you can stay here or go some other place'. Well I had to stay 'cause my mother stayed and I's jes' keeps on ridin' dem race hosses 'til long after my marster was dead, den I's gits me some hosses of my own and train other men's hosses too.
"I's worked at dat racin' business 'til I's come to Texas and when I went to work in hotels dat killed me up. I's done ev'r thing from makin' soap fer de scrubbin', to cookin' de bes' meals fer de bes' hotels. I aint been no good since, though, and I had to quit several years ago.
"De first time I was married was to Phillis Reed in Missouri and we jes' jumps over de broom, and after Phillis die and I comes to Texas I's gits married again to Susie, here in San Angelo; we jes' jumps ov'r de broom too. I's nev'r had no chillun of my own so I's jes' a settin' here a-livin' off de ole age pension."
JULIA FRANCIS DANIELS, born in 1848, in Georgia, a slave of the Denman family, who moved to Texas before the Civil War. Julia's memory fails her when she tries to recall names and dates. She still tries to take part in church activities and has recently started to learn reading and writing. She lives with a daughter at 2523 Spring St. Dallas, Texas.
"They's lots I disremembers and they's lots I remembers, like the year the war's over and the fightin' all done with, 'cause that the year I larned to plow and that the time I got married. That's the very year they larned me to plow. I larnt all right, 'cause I wasn't one slow to larn anything. Afore to that time, they ain't never had no hoe in the field for me a-tall. I jes' toted water for the ones in the field.
"I had plenty brothers and sisters, 'bout ten of 'em, but I disremembers some they names. There was Tom and George and Marthy and Mandy, and they's all name' Denman, 'cause my mammy and daddy was Lottie and Boyd Denman and they come from Georgia to Cherokee County and then to Houston County, near by to Crockett, with Old Man Denman. He was the one owned all us till he 'vided some with Miss Lizzie when she marries Mr. Cramer.
"My daddy worked in the fields with Uncle Lot and my brothers, and my Uncle Joe, he's driver. But Briscoe am overseer and he a white man. He can't never whup the growed mens like he wants, 'cause they don't let him unless he ask Old Man Denman. I seed him whup 'em, though. He make 'em take off the shirt and whup with the strap.
"Now, my mammy was cook in the Denman house and for our family and Uncle Joe's family. She didn't have much time for anythin' but cookin' all the time. But she's the bestes' cook. Us had fine greens and hawgs and beef. Us et collard greens and pork till us got skittish of it and then they quit the pork and kilt a beef. When they done that, they's jus' pourin' water on our wheels, 'cause us liked best of anythin' the beef, and I do to this day, only I can't never git it.
"Old Man Denman had a boy what kilt squirrels and throwed 'em in the kitchen. The white folks et them. You ain't never seen no white folks then would eat rabbit. I had a brother who hunted. Mostly on Sundays. He'd leave for the swamps 'fore daybreak and we'd know when we'd hear him callin', 'O-o-o-o-o-da-da-ske-e-e-e-t,' he had somethin'. That jus' a make-up of he own, but we knowed they's rabbits for the pot.
"All the mens don't hunt on Sunday, 'cause Uncle Joe helt meetin' in front he house. Us look out the door and seed Uncle Joe settin' the benches straight and settin' he table out under the trees and sweepin' clean the leaves and us know they's gwine be meetin'. They's the loveliest days that ever they was. Night times, too, they'd make it 'tween 'em whether it'd be at our house or Uncle Joe's. We'd ask niggers from other farms and I used to say, 'I likes meetin' jus' as good as I likes a party.'
"When crops is laid by us have the most parties and dence and sing and have play games. The reels is what I used to like but I done quit that foolishness many a year ago. I used to cut a step or two. I remembers one reel call the 'Devil's Dream.' It's a fast song
"'Oh, de Devil drempt a dream,
He drempt it on a Friday—
He drempt he cotch a sinner.'
"Old Man Denman am the great one for 'viding he property and when Miss Lizzie marries with Mr. Creame Cramer, which am her dead sister's husband, Old Man Denman give me and two my sisters to Miss Lizzie and he gives two more my sisters to he son. Us goes with Miss Lizzie to the Cramer place and lives in the back yard in a little room by the back door.
"Everything fine and nice there till one day Miss Lizzie say to me, 'Julia, go down to the well and fetch me some water,' and I goes and I seed in the road a heap of men all in gray and ridin' hosses, comin' our way. I runs back to the house and calls Miss Lizzie. She say, 'What you scairt for?' I tells her 'bout them men and she say they ain't gwine hurt me none, they jus' wants some water. I goes back to the well and heared 'em talk 'bout a fight. I goes back to the house and some of the mens comes to the gate and says to Mr. Cramer, 'How're you, Creame?' He say, 'I's all right in my health but I ain't so good in my mind.' They says, 'What the matter, Creame?' He say, 'I want to be in the fight so bad.'
"When they goes I asks Miss Lizzie what they fightin' 'bout and she say it am 'bout money. That all I knows. Right after that Mr. Cramer goes and we don't never see him no more. Word come back from the fightin' he makes some the big, high mens mad and they puts chains 'round he ankles and make him dig a stump in the hot sun. He ain't used to that and it give him fever to the brain and he dies.
"When Mr. Cramer goes 'way, Miss Lizzie takes us all and goes back to Old Man Denman's. The sojers used to pass and all the whoopin' and hollerin' and carryin' on, you ain't never heered the likes! They hollers, 'Who-o-o-o, Old Man Denman, how's your chickens?' And they chunks and throws at 'em till they cripples 'em up and puts 'em in they bags, for cookin'. Old Man Denman cusses at 'em somethin' powerful.
"My sister Mandy and me am down in the woods a good, fur piece from the house and us keeps heerin' a noise. My brother comes down and finds me and say, 'Come git your dinner.' When I gits there dinner am top the gate post and he say they's sojers in the woods and they has been persecutin' a old woman on a mule. She was a nigger woman. I gits so scairt I can't eat my dinner. I ain't got no heart for victuals. My brother say, 'Wait for pa, he comin' with the mule and he'll hide you out.' I gits on the mule front of pa and us pass through the sojers and they grabs at us and says, 'Gimme the gal, gimme the gal.' Pa say I faints plumb 'way.
"Us heered guns shootin' round and 'bout all the time. Seems like they fit every time they git a chance. Old Man Denman's boy gits kilt and two my sisters he property and they don't know what to do, 'cause they has to be somebody's property and they ain't no one to 'heritance 'em. They has to go to the auction but Old Man Denman say not to fret. At the auction the man say, 'Goin' high, goin' low, goin' mighty slow, a little while to go. Bid 'em in, bid 'em in. The sun am high, the sun am hot, us got to git home tonight.' An old friend of Old Man Denman's hollers out he buys for William Blackstone. Us all come home and my sisters too and Old Man Denman laugh big and say, 'My name allus been William Blackstone Denman.'
"I's a woman growed when the war was to a end. I had my first baby when I's fourteen. One day my sister call me and say, 'They's fit out, and they's been surrenderin' and ain't gwine fight no more.' That dusk Old Man Denman call all us niggers together and stand on he steps and make he speech, 'Mens and womans, you is free as I am. You is free to go where you wants but I is beggin' yous to stay by me till us git the crops laid by.' Then he say, 'Study it over 'fore you gives me you answer. I is always try as my duty to be fair to you.'
"The mens talks it over a-twixt theyselves and includes to stay. They says us might as well stay there as go somewhere else, and us got no money and no place to go.
"Then Miss Lizzie marries with Mr. Joe McMahon and I goes with her to he house near by and he say he larn me to plow. Miss Lizzie say, 'Now, Julia, you knows how to plow and don't make no fool of yourself and act like you ain't never seed no plow afore.' Us make a corn crop and goes on 'bout same as afore.
"I gits married that very year and has a little fixin' for the weddin', bakes some cakes and I have a dress with buttons and a preacher marries me. I ain't used to wearin' nothin' but loring (a simple one piece garment made from sacking). Unnerwear? I ain't never wore no unnerwear then.
"My husband rents a little piece of land and us raise a corn crop and that's the way us do. Us raises our own victuals. I has 17 chillen through the year and they done scatter to the four winds. Some of them is dead. I ain't what I used to be for workin'. I jus' set 'round. I done plenty work in my primer days.